Every Rose Has Its Thorns
by Ireadyourletter87
Summary: While on a case involving the mysterious dissapearances of three babies, Sam decides that Dean has the worst taste in tunes. But after an interesting twist, Dean decides that Sams code words are even worse : T for now but who knows..
1. Every Rose Has Its Thorns

"Evvveryyy Rooosee Hasss itsss thorrnnss.." Dean sang along with the radio altogether too loud and too proud in Sams opinion. He had been trying to ignore it and pay attention to the sound of the rain that was hitting the roof of the Impala in buckets. The rain was flowing down the windshield like a waterfall and thunder was cracking in the distances making it next to impossible for Sam to sleep. The Poison wasn't helping either.

"Evveryy cowboy sings a sad sad sooonng" Dean overemphasized his fake accent more and more as the song went on. It was two in the morning and Dean had insisted on blowing passed the last motel they saw over two hours ago because he was convinced that if they drove through the night they would make it to West Virginia by morning. Sam had agreed because he knew he didn't really have a choice in the matter and anyways it wasn't like he'd been counting on the sky starting to fall and Dean listening to Poison unbelievably loud. He couldn't take it any longer and hit the eject button on the stereo.

"Evvveryyy Rosee has its thoo-dude what are you doing?" Dean was surprised to suddenly hear only his voice.

"Poison, Dean, really?" Sam smiled and picked up the cassette.

"Don't diss Poison, man. Its better that the Tori Spelling shit you listen to." Dean looked at him, swerving to the left for a moment before re-centering the vehicle.

"It's Tori Amos and try not to kill us." Sam said, rolling down the window.

"Why are you opening the window in the rain? I swear if you fuck up my interior."

"Don't worry about your precious interior, Dean." Sam smiled and chucked the cassette out the window.

"What the hell! You're buying me a new one, dick." Dean spat.

"Yeah, I'll buy you the CD when you buy a player." Sam laughed as he rolled the window back up, knowing full well that there was no chance in hell that Dean would ever install a CD player in his car.

"There's only one player in this car Sammy," Dean smiled as he put an ACDC cassette in the player. "And that's all this baby needs."


	2. Cock and Pheasant

Tilsborough, West Virginia was sunny and warm which was a nice change from the previous night's rain storm. It was a quaint little town, the kind where everybody knew everyone else. They drove through the center of town and Sam gazed out the window at the marching band practicing in the front of the high school, the gazebo by the playground, a lemonaide stand filled with little kids overcharging plastic cups of sugary liquid. They passed the fire department that literally had two dalmations out front by the trucks, and a diner that he knew they would most likely end up at eventually because the sign out front advertised 'Best Pie Ever'. Finally after taking a left onto a dirty looking road and driving a few miles and past a few grungry looking motels, Dean pulled the car into the parking lot of what he thought was an acceptable motel and parked. Both Winchesters were happy to get out and finally stretch their legs.

"I can't believe we're about to get a room at a place called 'The Cock and Pheasant'." Sam muttered. He bent over and touched his toes, then rose and looked at the complex surrounding them. The office building was pale yellow and freshly painted but the two housing facilities were dirt brown and peeling badly. The sign was broken, the cement was cracked and there were big, fake cactus plants lined up outside of each orange doorway. The Cock and Pheasant was hideous.

"Sorry Sammy, I know if you had your way we'd be staying at 'The Back Door' down the street but there was no way that was happening." Dean laughed and shoved Sam enough to make him fumble gracefully. He looked around and breathed in the fresh air. To him nothing smelled better than post-rain air. Well, that is, except for the scent of a woman of course. He shoved his keys in his pockets and bounced a little, realizing that he hadn't gone to the bathroom in almost three hours.

"You're such an ass" But Sam was smiling.

"I know, it's in the job description. Now go check us in while I go find the can." Dean walked behind the closest length of condos, already pulling his zipper. It was all dirt and really ugly patio furniture. For a second he was tempted to pee in the pool, although he couldn't really think of a lodgical reason to do it.

"Don't pee on anything that I'm going to have to pay for!" Sam yelled after him, turning to realize that a very old couple was now standing in the parking spot directly to the left of him, looking at him like he had two heads. "He's ahhh a very special boy." He stammered before deciding to just walk away.

The walls of their room were purple and there were paintings of ducks all over them. Even the lampshades had ducks. Even the bar of soap in the bathroom was ducked shaped. The kitchenette had duck wallpaper. It was bizarre. At least there were two queen beds with matching brown comforters and no ducks. And neither of them were coin operated, otherwise Dean would never leave, and he would run them out of change. Sam couldn't wait to see Deans reaction to the ducks though.

"Let me get this straight," Dean paced around the room after he arrived back from peeing, eye brows raised at Sam. "There were nineteen other available rooms, and you got us room SIXTY NINE with the purple walls and the," he waved his hands around the room. "the ducks EVERYWHERE! Why Sammy, why?"

"I don't listen to Tori Amos. Call us even." Sam smirked and claimed the bed on the leftmost side of the room, farthest away from the ducky lamp. He threw his sweatshirt onto the bedside table where his laptop was already resting and thought about untying his shoes but deciding against it knowing that he wouldn't be here long.

"Whatever," Dean sighed and sat down at the small table and put his feet up. "So what the deal with this case? Baby-nappers?"

"I don't really know. In the past two weeks three babies have disappeared on the same bridge. The same thing happened ten years ago, and the same thing ten years before that. Every ten years since 1940. Only usually it's four or five babies."

"Sounds like they need to tear this creepy bridge down, and starting putting babies on leashes." Dean stood up. "So I guess I'll head over to the police station while you do your research thing. I trust you can find a library. Meet back here at five?"

"Sounds good to me. Try not to do anything stupid." Sam stood up, pulled on his sweatshirt, grabbed his laptop and headed out the door.

"No promises, Sammy, no promises." Dean laughed behind him.


	3. Crybaby Bridge

The police station was nearly empty when Dean arrived suited up with his fake FBI ID in his pocket. He approached the front desk and cringed at the sight of a duck shaped paperweight sitting next to the computer. _What is with these people and ducks? _He thought to himself as he cleared his throat, making his presence known to the tiny officer sitting behind the desk.

The officer was a small, balding man who looked around 40 years old and bored. He looked at Dean like a bug that needed to be squished and was clearly not amused with the sight of the boy in front of him and his nicely combed hair and pretty little suit. He took a sip of his black and, from the looks of it cold, coffee.

"Can I help you?" He clicked away on the computer no long looking at Dean. His tie was obviously a clip on and there was a stain on it.

"I hope so Officer.." Dean waited.

"Finkel." Dean struggled to hold a straight face.

"Yes, Officer Finkel. I'm with the FBI, I was hoping there was someone here I could speak to about the disappearing baby bridge."

"Do you have some ID?" Officer Finkel asked and Dean handed him the fake and hoped, although secretly loving the rush, that Finkel would buy it. Finkel examined the card closely and then handed it back. "So, Officer Entwistle. You're here about the missing babies? Why is the FBI interested in a few missing babies way out here in the middle of nowhere, West Virginia?" He clicked a few more buttons on his keyboard and the swiveled in his chair to reach the printer behind him. It was an old noisy model and was smashed on the table between piles of paper, and no doughnut boxes. Finkel stared at the paper that slowly inched its way out of the machine, making not even the slightest suggestion that he was going to be in any way helpful. This was not going at all how Dean had planned and he was starting to get annoyed. Thought of kicking little Finkel's little ass was crossing his mind already.

"Let's just say that's for me to know. So can you help me or do I need to ask your boss?" He was drumming his fingers on the desk now.

"Relax, big man. I'll tell the Sheriff that you're here." He yanked the paper from the printer, swivled his chair, hit a few numbers on the phone, mumbled something into an intercom and pointed Dean to a room down the hall.

There were three book cases lining the walls of the little room as well, and they were lined with law books, framed certificates and much to Dean's dismay, the room was loaded with stuffed ducks mounted to the walls. At least eight of them. With beady little duck eyes. He was officially getting creeped out by all the ducks. Wendigos and Vampires were one thing, but creepy, beady eyed ducks were an entirely different thing. Dean jumped at the sound of someone behind him.

"Can I help you young man?" This guy had to be the sheriff, he was ancient and wearing a uniform that must have been made before John Winchester had even been born. He shook Deans hand and stepped around him towards the little desk at the back of the room.

"What can you tell me about the babies that have gone missing recently. And what is with the ducks?" Dean couldn't help himself turning to face the sheriff.

"I shot them myself, love duck huntin'." The sheriff smiled, taking a seat and offering Dean one which he graciously accepted. " As for the children. We don't know much. They were all girls, all nearly a year old. None of the families knew each other. The only connection is the bridge, they all went missing on the same bridge, snatched out their car seats by someone that got passed all of their parents."

"So someone up and grabbed a baby out of a car and no one noticed?"

"Not exactly," explained the sheriff. " See around this time of year we get a lot of rain, always have. That bridge floods alot. I guess some people think their cars can handle it but the parents of the missing children, well, their cars couldn't. They all had the same story, see, bridge flooded and they stepped out to push the car, leaving the baby in back seat. When they heard the baby cryin a few minutes later and looked into the car, the car seat was empty."

"And they never found the babies? No bodies or anything?"

"Not a trace. And it's the damdest thing, when we got there the bridge wasn't flooded at all, in fact the bridge was nearly dry." Deans eyes widened.

"About how long did it take for your men to get over there?"

"Not ten minutes. How does a damned flooded bridge just dry up in ten minutes?" He threw his hands up in the air.

"I'm not sure, but could you tell me where this bridge is? Investigating the scene of the crimes and all."

The sheriff opened his desk without hesitation and pulled out a map, jotted something down and handed it to Dean. It was a map of the town, with only one thing out of the ordinary on it. Right next to a park by some big monumental trees that the town had dedicated to someone years ago, was a circle around "Crybaby Bridge".


	4. The Truth About Madeline

By the time he got back to the motel it was dark out. The sky was littered with stars, the moon was huge and there wasn't a cloud in sight but despite the brightness, Dean was still having trouble unlocking the door. He was holding a six pack, a box with a pie in it, a bag of doughnuts and the keycard to the room. Not to mention the doughnut in his mouth preventing him from calling out to Sam. He shifted the weight of everything onto one hand and quickly slid the keycard through the slot only to discover by the sound of one of the beers shattering onto the cement that he hadn't been fast enough. And to make matters worse he yelled "Shit" without thinking and dropped the Boston Crème out of his mouth and onto the puddle of beer and broken glass.

Groaning he nudged the door open with his toe and finally walked in. Sam was asleep on the bed with his shoes still on and his laptop open. Not wanting to wake him up, Dean put the beer and doughnuts on the table in the kitchenette as quietly as possible, crept over to the table by the crappy TV, sat, put the pie down and started untying his shoes. By the time he got them off he had realized that he needed a fork for his pie and Sam was awake and sitting up.

"So who were you today?" Sam turned on the light and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Lead singer of Metallica?"

"Original bassist from The Who." He walked back to the kitchenette, grabbed two beers , tossed one at Sam, sat back down and looked at his pie longingly. He'd forgotten a fork again, he'd have to get to it later.

"Officer Entwistle, nice. So what'd you find out?" Sam walked over and sat at the table with Dean, grabbing his laptop on the way.

"What, you mean besides that this whole town is obsessed with Ducks?" He twisted the cap off of the beer and flicked it onto the table. "Get this, the bridge supposedly floods, takes off with a baby and then dries up before the cops get there. Almost makes it looks like the parents chucked their kids off the bridge or something."

"Funny you should say that, check this out," Sam opened his laptop and pushed it towards Dean. "Now, there's a lot of old folklore and urban legends involving bridges but when I went through the archives of the town's local newspaper I came across this. Back in late thirties this guy, Robert Patterson, lived near that bridge. He had a wife named Claire. He was a nice, normal guy or so it seemed. He was in the paper a few times for winning pumpkin growing contests and stuff like that."

"Get to the point Sam, how does this connect to our missing babies?" Dean took a swig of his beer impatiently.

"I'm getting there. So anyways there's an article in January of 1939 announcing Claire's pregnancy. Later on there's pictures of her at the town fair that summer with a swollen belly. She gave birth on September first, and it was a girl, Madeline. But then randomly nine months later, Mr. Patterson flips out. The neighbors hear him yelling at Claire one day that he suddenly thinks she cheated on him and that Madeline isn't really his daughter. The neighbors contacted the police when it had been quiet for awhile and when the police got there they found Claire stabbed to death on the kitchen floor. Later they found Mr. Patterson on the bridge just staring over the edge. He told them that he killed his wife and threw his baby off the bridge. Then look at this, May 1950, four babies mysteriously vanished off of Beaver Bridge. Then the next May, five babies. All in freak rainstorms or random flooding."

"So are you saying crazy fathers are throwing their babies off of bridges and what, the mothers are just going along with it?" Dean asked.

"No, I think there's more to it than that. I'm not sure exactly how it connects but look," he pulled up the calendar on his computer. "May 20th is in three days so odds are we don't have much time to figure it out. At least one more baby is going to disappear on that bridge."

"Well the sheriff gave me the names of the families that lost their babies already this month and their addresses. We'll have to check them out tomorrow. And talk to the teenagers around here too." He put his empty bottle on the table, peeled off his long sleeve shirt and then the tee under it and headed toward his bed.

"Why the teenagers?" Sam asked untying his shoes.

"Because," Dean pulled the map from his pocket and tossed it to Sam who caught it with one hand. "There has to be a reason or a ghost story that they would have passed around about this bridge. There's gotta be a reason that they changed its name to Crybaby."


End file.
